The old servant confirmed this statement, but muttered:

‘I’d rayther he’d goan hisseln for t’ doctor! I sud ha,’ taen tent o’ t’ maister better nor him - and he warn’t deead when I left, naught o’ t’ soart!’

I insisted on the funeral being respectable. Mr. Heathcliff said I might have my own way there too: only, he desired me to remember that the money for the whole affair came out of his pocket. He maintained a hard, careless deportment, indicative of neither joy nor sorrow: if anything, it expressed a flinty gratification at a piece of difficult work successfully executed. I observed once, indeed, something like exultation in his aspect: it was just when the people were bearing the coffin from the house.